


A Boy and His Dog

by Anonymous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Hand Jobs, Knotting, M/M, Male Makkachin, Masturbation, Other, Pre-Canon, Sexual Experimentation, Young Victor Nikiforov, in case you missed that first tag it says BESTIALITY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Kink-meme prompt: Lonely teenage Victor coaxes his beloved Makkachin into taking his virginity.





	A Boy and His Dog

**Author's Note:**

> THIS MAY NOT BE ENTIRELY ACCURATE. There's really a limit to what I'm willing to google.
> 
> To my dear enablers: I show you my love by not listing your names here. <3
> 
> Makkachin is male in this story. And he is not physically harmed.

Victor can't keep it in his pants. When he's home, anyway. In the door and there's hardly time to rub Makkachin's head before he's on his bed with a box of tissues and a bottle of hand lotion. It feels like he's hard all the goddamn time and maybe the dance belt at practice isn't doing as much as it should to hide that, the way people have been looking at him.

But all they do is look. Yakov keeps warning him about people trying to take advantage of him. Yakov face gets red and he grumps like this is an intolerable burden and it _is_ , for Victor. About the only thing that _doesn't_ get him hard is thinking about someone taking advantage of Yakov.

And all these people that want to creep on Victor are nowhere to be found. The fans fawn and stare and the other skaters just kind of look at him. Probably just jealous but he knows they're all getting off with each other. He hears them gossiping about it. He sees them making out in the hallways.

Victor wraps his hand around his cock. It's sore, even with the lotion, because he just can't stop touching himself. But he has to so he jacks it with his eyes closed, thinking about this one boy at the rink. He's such a terrible skater but Victor can't stop staring at his ass. Victor can't help following him into the locker room to get a glimpse of his package.

And he can't help thinking about sucking him off, right there in the locker room. Kneeling up between the boy's legs while he's sitting on the bench. Victor would bend down and just take that dick into his mouth and –

The bed's already shaking but when the mattress dips too, Victor opens his eyes and looks at Makkachin as he settles next to Victor, pressing his furry side all down Victor's leg and raising up his head for more attention.

Victor can't stop it. He's coming right now, jetting hot and messy all over his belly and the bottom of his t-shirt while Makkachin noses at his arm.

He swabs off the jizz with tissues but not fast enough to stop Makkachin from licking some off his skin. That's gross and weird but what's Victor going to do, yell at him?

Victor takes off his shirt and tosses it on the floor. He strokes Makkachin's fur and thinks about getting up for food and TV and all those emails piling up from his parents.

But instead he lies naked on the bed, cuddling with Makkachin and thinking about the muscles that move on that boy's back when he pulls his shirt off, until he's hard again.

He tries to nudge Makkachin off the bed but Makkachin's not having it, so Victor rolls over on his side to rub the next one out, eyes screwed closed and Makkachin lying warm all along his back.

 

When Victor gets home, the dog walker is still there, un-clipping Makkachin's collar and talking to him in a cutesy voice.

Victor can't remember the man's name but he hasn't forgotten that gym rat body and smooth shaved head. He wants to press up against him. He wants the man to bend him back and shove him against the wall and touch his body with those strong hands, pulling apart Victor's clothing and grabbing at his dick.

He's instantly hard, so hard he has to bite his lip to keep from going over and just offering himself. But he wouldn't even know how. He looks at the man and knows he should thank him for looking after Makkachin but his throat is dried up. So he just stares – _take me, take me_ – while Makkachin bounds over and noses at the jacket Victor has balled up over his crotch.

"He's a handful," the man says, smiling at Victor so that Victor's knees weaken. "But we have a great time." He crosses over and rubs Makkachin's back.

Victor leans forward a little because he just can't help it. He thinks he can smell the man's sweat. He'd be rough with Victor. Maybe he'd throw him down on the couch. Maybe he wouldn't do anything to Victor, just tell Victor how to touch him while he leans back and enjoys it. And Victor wants so fucking much to see this man's dick. To touch it and suck it and swallow after.

But all Victor gets is to watch him walk out the door.

He doesn't even make it to the bedroom. He's down on the couch, dick out. Makkachin jumps up beside him and Victor doesn't try to chase him away. He grabs Makkachin's fur in his fingers, right where he saw the dog walker pet him.

"Do you like it when he touches you?" Victor says. He imagines the man's hands on him instead of Makkachin, stroking him, touching him. And his hands on the man's cock. Would he get hard when Victor touched him?

What if Victor died without getting to hold another man's dick in his hand? He could get hit by a car. And he'd never know what it felt like.

Makkachin rolls over and Victor rubs his belly, up and down at the same time he's rubbing his own cock. It's not the same thing but he can't seem to stop his hand from moving down and touching Makkachin's sheath, stroking until his dick is out too and Makkachin is wriggling and whining.

Victor shouldn't do this. He's got that twisty wrong tangle in his guts, because this is internet-freak-level behaviour, but there's no stopping things now and anyhow, Makkachin is still here, half over Victor's lap.

So Victor wraps his fingers around Makkachin's cock and pretends he's holding the dog walker's instead. That it's hot and firm against Victor's palm and he likes the way Victor is touching him. He's got his hand on Victor's head. He's whispering in Victor's ear: _you're good, you're so good_.

And Victor comes over his hand and his pulled back clothes, choking out a groan while he's still holding Makkachin's cock. Makkachin yips and rolls away, jumping off the couch and padding across the room, his dick hanging out between his legs.

"I'm sorry," Victor says and tells himself he's never going to do that again.

But when he turns over the couch cushion and goes into the bedroom, Makkachin jumps onto the bed next to him, licking Victor's face and begging for attention.

Victor hugs him close, face buried in Makkachin's fur. "I'm sorry," he says again. But his hand creeps down and strokes Makkachin, closing his eyes against that half-sick half-aroused feeling that he just can't fight as Makkachin whines and scrabbles and comes on Victor's bedsheets.

Twenty minutes in the shower can't relax the knot in Victor's gut. _Never again,_ he tells himself, and says the same to Makkachin while they're watching TV on the couch.

In the morning, Victor makes them both come again.

 

"It's better if you're there for him," the breeder says so Victor avoids Yakov's scowl and leaves early to take Makkachin to stud.

It's odd watching Makkachin sniff around the bitch. They're both whining and circling. Makkachin licks at the bitch's vulva and Victor feels a surge of anxiety. This was a bad idea, why are they here?

But he looks over at the breeder – Pavel – and he knows why he agreed to this. Pavel is tall and slender and so beautiful it makes Victor's chest squeeze to look at him.

Then the bitch moves her tail aside. Makkachin covers her and mounts her. Victor closes his eyes for a moment. He wants to go over there now and put his hand on Makkachin's back, stroking him as he thrusts. 

And he wants Pavel to hold him from behind. Bend him over the table in the corner, long fingers curving around Victor's hipbones. He want Pavel to cover him and mount him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him while Makkachin fucks the bitch.

But he can't flag like the bitch does. So he just watches, moving his jacket in front of him because he's hard again. Hard still. Hard forever.

Then Makkachin stops moving. "They're tied," Pavel says. "You might need to calm him down."

Makkachin throws his leg over the bitch and the dogs stand back to back. Victor follows Pavel over and crouches by Makkachin's head, folding himself up to hide his erection. He strokes Makkachin's head and back. "It's okay," he says. "Relax." Makkachin is trembling and Victor catches it too, shaking a little and knowing his erection isn't going away, even when the tie relaxes.

How would that feel? He's been trying things at home. He can't _buy_ any toys. So he uses his fingers. A brush handle pushed in slowly. A beeswax candle from a shop nearby the rink.

But to be fixed by a knot inside of him, unable to pull away, even if he wanted to. He can't imagine it. He leans his forehead against the top of Makkachin's head. This has to be over soon. Soon because he can't stand this much longer, so aroused it's hard to breathe. It's like the flu, burning up and skin so sensitized, everything he touches hurts him.

"That's it," Pavel says. "Just keep stroking him. You're doing great, both of you." He reaches over and puts his hand on Victor's shoulder.

It's too much. The weight of Pavel's hand presses down on him and Victor shifts a bit so that Pavel's fingers touch the bare skin at his throat. Makkachin moves in Victor's embrace and whines. And it's happening – Victor can't stop it.

He shakes his hair down to hide his face, turning away from Pavel. He bites his lip and comes in his pants, trying so hard not to move a muscle that tears come to his eyes.

"It's okay," Pavel says. "It doesn't hurt them to wait like this." He squeezes Victor's shoulder. "Should only be a few more minutes."

Victor nods. A few more minutes until he has to manoeuvre himself out of this, more work with the jacket so Pavel can't see what all this did to him. He strokes Makkachin and wishes they were home right now.

It takes five minutes more. Pavel is focused on his dog and Victor manages to stand, easing his cramped legs, and turn the other way while he gets Makkachin's collar and lead on. Then the jacket over the arm and the arm in front the body.

"I'll call you," Pavel says, "and let you know."

_Please call me,_ Victor thinks and takes Makkachin home.

Makkachin sleeps on the couch while Victor's in the bedroom.

The candle isn't enough.

 

Victor knows about the things that go on at Worlds. The way the skaters collide when they're off the ice, spending a night in someone else's room and hooking up at after parties. Sometimes more than once.

This year, Victor will make sure he's in the middle of it all. And it will happen for him. It _has_ to happen. And he knows who it's going to happen with. An ice dancer, tall and beautiful, so graceful on the ice Victor wonders what it's like to be his partner and share that intense connection.

And he wonders if they fuck. But even if they do, Victor is going to get himself between them and it will be different this time. He'll know the words to say. He'll know the way to toss his hair and laugh and charm the man into bed with him, the way Victor already charms his fans and the press.

But he has to be ready; he can't come to this man a virgin. And there's not much more time. So Victor knows what he has to do.

He's been trying not to think about it and there's a level on which he's been succeeding. His surface thoughts are still filled with the boy at the rink and man who lives next door and lovely Pavel who called to say the breeding had been successful but didn't say he wanted Victor underneath him on the floor of his apartment.

But Victor is still lying down with Makkachin, stroking them both off together, and when he tries to keep his hands away, Makkachin just presses up against his leg.

And so he knows he's going to do it, days before he lets his mind pretend to decide.

When he gets home that day, he kneels down and catches Makkachin in a hug. _I'm sorry,_ he wants to say. _I love you._ But he can't even say those things out loud, not today.

Makkachin butts up against him, angling for Victor's hand, but Victor gently pushes him away. "Soon," he says and goes into the bathroom.

He's read a lot about how to get ready to be fucked and he cleans himself up as well as he can. In the shower, he probes his asshole with his fingers, loosening the tension as much as possible. He stays in the shower so long, his fingertips wrinkle and he hears Makkachin scratching at the door.

He's got a tube of lubricant – and even that was hard to buy – and he pushes a cold gob of it up inside himself. He braids his hair to keep it out of the way. He pulls on a t-shirt so Makkachin won't scratch his back.

Then there are no more things to prepare, so he takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Steam rolls out after him and Makkachin paces in front of him, giving a soft bark. Victor touches Makkachin's head and Makkachin lopes ahead of him to the bedroom, looking back to make sure Victor is following.

When they're on the bed together, Victor rubs Makkachin's head and strokes his back, loving the way Makkachin's eyes close and he almost looks like he's smiling. He's Victor's best friend. He takes food from Victor's hand and warms his bed at night.

And now he's going to take Victor one step further. Victor reaches down and rubs at Makkachin's sheath but he hardly has to touch him before his dick slides out. Victor strokes it too as Makkachin whines with excitement.

Victor is half-hard and he rubs his dick against Makkachin's side, through the wiry fur, until he's completely up. His stomach is twisting, though, and he's anxious in a way he's never been on the ice, no matter what the competition was.

It's not too late to just flop down together and jack it. Then curl up and nap until it's time for the next round. Soft and warm together, best friends who take care of each other.

But Victor catches sight of the photo on his mirror. He clipped it out of a magazine and taped it there like a motivational poster: _if I only believe in myself, this man will fuck me._

He wants that, he wants it so badly his bones ache, so it's too late to just jack it.

"Come on," he says. "You remember how." He presses a kiss on top of Makkachin's head. Then he gets onto his hands and knees.

Makkachin bumps up against his side, not where Victor wants him to be right now. He noses at Victor's face and licks his cheek, his tongue warm and wet and familiar.

Victor kneels up and strokes Makkachin's back. "You know what to do." He guides Makkachin around behind him, then settles back down, resting on his elbows so his hips are higher than his shoulders.

He doesn't know what else to do. He can't flag like the bitch did. He can't smell like a dog in heat. What if this doesn't work either? He's almost ready to stand on a street corner, begging all the passers-by until someone takes him home.

Then he shivers at the cold touch of Makkachin's nose against his buttock, snuffling wetly along the crease of his thigh. "Like that," he says. "You're getting it."

Makkachin's snout bumps up against Victor's balls and Victor holds his breath, but Makkachin is gentle as he sniffs and prods. Then Victor feels the lap of Makkachin's tongue along his asshole, warm and smooth, and the jolt of arousal that goes through him makes him shudder.

"Remember?" he says. _Please, please._ He reaches around, fingertips straining, and touches Makkachin's shoulder. "Come on, a little closer."

Fur tickles Victor's buttocks as Makkachin rests his head on the small of Victor's back and whines.

And Victor does the only thing he can think of: he wriggles his hips and he whines too, trying to say the words the bitch was saying, _I'm ready for you, I want you now, please, now._

He clenches his fists. _Please, Makkachin, now._

The bed shifts and Makkachin's whole soft weight comes down on Victor's back. Makkachin's front paws scrabble at Victor's waist, scratching him through the t-shirt.

A flood of relief washes over Victor, followed by anticipation and fear, all mixed up with arousal so strong, he's sick with it. "Good boy," he says. "Good boy."

Makkachin's cock presses against Victor's asshole and it's Victor's last chance to back out of this. But he presses back instead, trying to guide Makkachin. Trying to relax.

Then Makkachin finds the angle and he pushes inside Victor, his forelegs tightening on Victor's hips, and starts to thrust.

Victor gasps and tears come to his eyes. It's not that different from the brush handle, so far as the stretch of his muscle. But the movement, the depth he can't control, the speed of the thrusts – the sensations overwhelm him and he clenches his hands against the sheets.

It's nearly painful, but only nearly, the way he's opened, again and again, while Makkachin whines on top of him. Victor whines back to him, _that's it, please, that's what I want_.

Then Makkachin's cock begins to swell. Victor knows this will happen but the stretch inside of him is more than he's expecting and he groans. Will it be like this with a man, this invasion that's becoming more than he can stand?

And then the bulb expands, tying them together, and Victor knows it will never be like this with any man. Tears run down his face and he moans, open-mouthed and panting.

Mercifully, Makkachin stops his thrusts. There's an agonizing moment when he turns and swings his leg over and then they're back to back, like Makkachin and the bitch were, tied together.

Victor needs to breathe but his chest doesn't want to rise. He's toppling over the edge of pain, filled until he's aching. He reaches back with one hand and he can just graze Makkachin's haunches with his fingertips.

"Good boy, Makkachin," he says and at the centre of all the sensations screaming through his body, there's a warm coal of contentment. They're together, him and Makkachin, best friends. "Good dog," he says. "Good friend. We'll always be together."

Makkachin whines and shifts. His cock pulses as he ejaculates and the pull inside of Victor is too much. It hurts for real now and he can only moan until it's over and the pain subsides.

He's got to keep Makkachin calm while they're still locked so he keeps talking, telling Makkachin how good he is, how wonderful, how well he's doing.

Victor's muscles are all cramping but he can't let himself slump. He shifts his weight to his other arm, bracing on the elbow. And he reaches back for his own cock.

He's still half-hard and it only takes a bit of rubbing to get up all the way. He tries to bring the man into his mind, the ice dancer who is going to bend him over a hotel desk and take him as many times as he wants to. But there's no room inside Victor's mind right now for anything but Makkachin and the tie that's still filling him up.

It's enough. Victor strokes himself slowly, still speaking to Makkachin. Still telling him he's such a good dog, the best, the only one. And Victor comes, not hard, but it's there, and he relaxes.

It's only a minute before Makkachin relaxes too and the tie subsides. When Makkachin pulls away, Victor falls over. He's exhausted, clammy with sweat, aching all over. He doesn't want to move but when Makkachin curls up next to him, Victor puts an arm around him and buries his wet and smiling face in Makkachin's fur.

They fall asleep together. When Victor wakes, Makkachin is gone and there's a mess on the sheets Victor can't let his housekeeper see. He's sore inside and out but it's done now. He's not a virgin. He's ready.

After he cleans up, Victor goes out to the kitchen to put out Makkachin's supper. He sits on the floor and watches while Makkachin eats, scratching the top of Makkachin's head.

When Makkachin licks Victor's face, surrounding him in a cloud of dog food breath, Victor puts his arms around him. "I love you," he says. "I love you."

 

Victor comes back from Worlds with a medal and nothing else. Just the sting of those eyes that looked down at him and then away before Victor could reach out a hand.

It's not going to happen. It's never going to happen.

He sits alone without turning on the lights, only the grey winter sun barely lifting the dim inside his apartment.

He jumps up when he hears the bark outside his door. Makkachin tumbles him to the floor, licking at his face and neck, and Victor can barely hear the voice of the man telling him how well Makkachin has been doing while he's been away.

When the door closes, Victor turns on the lights. He puts his hand on Makkachin's head. "I missed you," he says.

Makkachin trots off to the bedroom, looking back over his shoulder.

Victor follows him.

**Author's Note:**

> And now, a sequel with Yuuri: [Fetch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177385)


End file.
